Red Walls
by Hearts Desire
Summary: Shannon Moore with mentions of Matt Hardy. Angst fic with presumable character death.


A/N- Alrighty, I spent half of school this morning (though my teacher today wasn't too happy!) working on this! It's kinda devoted to my brother Travis, cause he always wanted me to write a story with this title. It's written a little differently, isn't long or anything. I wrote the, like first half and then couldn't finish it, so Trinity did it instead. Thanks Trinity!  
  
  
  
Title: Red Walls  
  
Aithor: Hearts Desire  
  
  
  
I think that this is finally it, now. The pain is overbearing.   
  
Excruciating.   
  
Intense.   
  
  
  
And there is nothing I can do to get away from it. I'm hurting everywhere. But this time, it seems ten times worse.  
  
Maybe because it's not you causing all of this pain, it's me.  
  
I'm the one doing everything, you're only motivation.  
  
  
  
You jumped, defected, switched, whatever they call it, but what you really did was leave me behind and left me to my fate.  
  
You left me to go to Raw. To spend time with your "new thing". You have them all the time, even when we were together.  
  
That's probably why I'm doing this.  
  
  
  
The mirror in front of me reflects an image that looks so forgein ... so .... unappealling.  
  
I never used to think of my this way. I know that I am not a bad looking guy. Or I used to think that I was a good looking guy, but now when I look at myself all I can think about is how awful I look. How ... unattractive and, dare I say it, nasty.  
  
The black streaks in my hair have long faded to a dull grey. The blonde is tanish ... not the vibrant colour it once was. My eyes are dull and the colour of dying leaves or pine needles. There are angry bruises over my skin and scars and cuts plotting across my arms and chest like a vicious map.  
  
My muscles are much less defined, thanks to a few too many ... weeks, months .... of drinking and not caring any more. I've faded back to the little kid that used to follow you around your backyard and just annoy the hell out of you without meaning.  
  
  
  
I guess I've still not lost that annoying part of me ... that just might be what had chased you off anyways.  
  
I know that it has been months since you left for Raw and I should be over this, over YOU. Dammit, you made me this way!  
  
I'm just a shell of who I used to be. I don't talk to anyone anymore. I don't have friends in the locker room ... I'm not even there any more. Vince has kept me off the show for the past few months to "get over" myself. It's only a matter of time before I'm actually let go, too. Spanky, London, and I, you'll probably only see us when we're sitting at the bar and talking about what we used to do in the WWE.  
  
Yeah, let's add Maven, Yoshiro Asia, Tommy Dreamer, and Kevin Nash there with us.  
  
  
  
But lets get back to the real point here. I've faded away to nothing. I've faded to what you actually wanted me to be. Back when you were at Smackdown! and used to beat me up. Back when you used to hit me and call me nasty names.  
  
And then you would hold me and tell me that you were sorry. You'd wiped my blood from my face and clean my cuts and ice my bruises until you felt like making them vibrant again.  
  
So ... inadvertant as it may sound to some, this is all your damn fault.  
  
  
  
So, I do it to myself. And I've had enough.  
  
The pain is too much.  
  
I don't see how you got pleasure from all of this.  
  
These knives are sharp ... the ties around my wrists are tight, who knew they'd hold that good?  
  
  
  
But even more than that ... I realized that the only person who could hurt me more than myself was you, even when I pull all of your tricks out of the black bag you always brought with you. I know everything personally. They've all met my body at least once in various combinations.  
  
So now, as I lay down on the floor of my bathroom: with the bag in one hand and the thoughts of you running through my mind, I try to think of why, but my mind is shutting slowly.  
  
The walls have reddened with blood. I've cut so deep that it doesn't seem like I'll ever stop bleeding. Not that that isn't what I wanted, but it's a shock. I'm laying in it, like a ... like some sick type of bath. Jeez, Matt, why did you ever like doing things like this: with blades and ties, and gags and bonds?  
  
  
  
You've got me addicted to it.   
  
The site of my own blood, the pain that rushes through my body with every breath.   
  
But this time, I think I've gone too far.  
  
My breath keeps getting shorter.  
  
  
  
This isn't what I planned on, but somehow I knew that it would be coming. Jeffry warned me not to get involved with you. He warned me that you were very convincing and that you would be bad for me.  
  
I guess he was right, you were bad for me.  
  
You've killed me, you know.  
  
Anyways ... I can't really think of why I did this. Why I let myself go through all of this toture. I guess that ... all I wanted to do was be like you ...  
  
{FIN} 


End file.
